


DILF

by rosytonics



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: (as if my entire life doesn't consist of kidfic), Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Kidfic, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Kurapika (Hunter X Hunter), Romantic Comedy, Trans Male Character, awkward run ins with exes, trans leorio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-03-30 00:25:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19030999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosytonics/pseuds/rosytonics
Summary: “...I have sent the child’s information to you via email. Please look it over and get back to us at your convenience, but please keep in mind that this is quite urgent, and make an effort to respond by the end of the week.”It’s Wednesday.Leorio has until Friday to decide if he wants a kid.(Or, the one where Leorio Paladiknight accidentally becomes a dad, endures repeated run-ins with his ex from college, and maybe even gets a second chance.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ hello, friends! welcome to the first chapter of DILF! i've been working on this au for a couple of months, and i'm very excited to share it with all of you! i hope you guys love it as much as i do ♡ once you're done, please let me know what you think! 
> 
> this chapter is dedicated to my friend abby, who tossed some commission cash at me and said "post dilf". thank you so much for your friendship and support, queen! ily ♡

When Leorio slams his hand down on his yowling alarm and closes his eyes again, he doesn’t expect today to be different than all the others. 

 

Why would it be? His days always go the same way: wake up alone, shower, make breakfast for one, go to work, drink coffee for lunch, throw a Lean Cuisine in the microwave for dinner, wash his fork, read until his head hurts, go to bed, repeat. It’s not a routine so much as it’s just  _ the way things are _ . Calling it a routine requires effort and planning, when in fact he just...goes through the motions. 

 

He’s just barely gotten his eyes closed when the alarm starts up again. With a groan consisting of 75% exhaustion and 25% frustration, Leorio sits up. There’s no point in trying to get any more sleep. After a little blind fumbling, he eventually finds his glasses on the bedside table. As he makes the bed, he tries not to think about how big and empty it is. 

 

His shower is brisk and uneventful, and breakfast tastes bland and unsatisfying. He’d overcooked the egg, and the toast is still squishy and raw in the middle, despite being nearly burnt on top. Even his coffee tastes a little watery. 

 

Briefcase in hand, Leorio shuffles out of the house around six thirty. For lack of a better term, the weather is  _ mild _ : thin, gray clouds shroud the sun, and although it’s just cold enough to be uncomfortable, it’s still too warm to wear a jacket. 

 

His commute into the heart of the city drags on as expected, his little gray Prius scooting around at a speedy five miles an hour. The gas gauge crawls closer and closer to empty, but not empty enough to deserve a trip to the pump. He likes to wait until he only has a third of a gallon left. He gets a better deal that way. 

 

He cycles between five radio stations, but listens to nothing but ads the whole way there. 

 

Leorio slowly prepares the clinic for opening, taking frequent breaks to take sips of weak, lukewarm coffee from his travel mug. By the time his nurses and secretary arrive, he’s done most of the morning’s work for them. 

 

He shrugs when they thank him. “Hey, it’s the least I can do--you guys work so hard to keep this place running, and I appreciate that.” It also gives him a reason to leave early and stay late; the less time he spends cooped up in his house, the better. 

 

“Doctor, you work too hard,” notes his secretary, Oito, as she pulls out her chair and lowers herself into it carefully. She struggles to get comfortable, squirming until she finds a position that wouldn’t hurt her back. She folds her arms and rested them over her pregnant belly. “You should take a break.” The way she tightens her shoulders and sighs tells him that she knows he won’t. 

 

Leorio picks up his clipboard and flips through today’s agenda, trying to think of an appropriate excuse. “I work just hard enough,” he replies, smiling at her, “And speaking of breaks, when are you planning on starting your leave?”  _ Good diversion. _ He tucks the clipboard under his arm and sets a friendly hand on her shoulder. “Take as long as you need before and after the baby comes. And be sure to take some breaks today--even just to get up and walk around, okay?” People can say a lot about Leorio. They can call him a cheapskate, or a workaholic, or even a bit of a grump in the morning--

 

But nobody can say that he doesn’t take care of his people. 

 

Nodding, Oito smiles. “Mhm! Thank you, doctor!” She rubs her belly absentmindedly. “We’re very excited!” 

 

“You should be!” Leorio grins, nodding. “There’s nothing more exciting than a new baby!” Hell, if he had a kid, he’d probably never shut up about them. His heart gives an unsatisfied little clench, hissing in his ear that it wants  _ more _ . Sometimes it keeps him awake at night, stomping around his ribcage in a huff, listing its demands.  _ “I want to be  _ **_married_ ** _! I want  _ **_babies_ ** _! You’re  _ **_killing_ ** _ me here, man! Can’t you at least get a dog or something, you lonely miser?!”  _ Usually he can’t get it to stop yelling unless he has a drink or two, which could grow into a nasty habit if he’s not careful. He lifts his hand from her shoulder. “And, hey! At least you already have a doctor picked out who can give you a pretty sweet employee discount!” 

 

“As if I would pick anyone else,” she teases lightly, “You really are the best--excuse me.” The telephone on her desk barely finishes its first ring before she rolls forward to pick it up. “Hello, thank you for calling Dr. Paladiknight’s office! My name is Oito, how can I help you this morning?”

 

Leorio leaves her to it and brings the agenda to his office, reading over it as he goes. Looks like today’s gonna be pretty packed. With school starting in a few weeks, parents who’d forgotten about start-of-school vaccines are scrambling to get all their kids all the necessary forms and shots. Minor injuries, usually from sports or horseplay, are pretty common in the summer too. 

 

The morning flies by as kids of all ages file in and out of his office. He greets them with high fives, keeps them laughing through their checkups, and then sends each one home with a sticker. He gives the last of his Hello Kitty band-aids to a blind second grader who grinned and bore it through her chicken pox vaccine. 

 

“That wasn’t so hard, right?” he asks as he lays it down over her arm, “Easy peasy!” He helps her off the exam table and and smiles down at her as she runs her finger over the band-aid. “It’s pink with Hello Kitty on it, just like you asked.” He grabs her cane from the bench and nudges her hand with it. She immediately feels around for the base and grasps it. “You were very brave, Komugi! Want a high five?” Leorio kneels down to offer her one, but she shakes her head with a reserved little smile. She’s pretty shy, but sometimes on days when she’s feeling bold, she gives him a high five, or even a hug. But most of the time, she keeps to herself. He never pushes her. “Why don’t you go ask Oito to help you pick out a sticker from the basket while I talk to your mom, okay?” 

 

She scurries out the door, nudging her cane against the walls to guide her. 

 

“Thanks again, doctor.” Komugi’s mom, a tall woman with long, fair hair, shakes Leorio’s hand firmly. “You’re so good with her. Your kids must be pretty lucky!” 

 

Oh. Um. 

 

Leorio’s heart whips out a big ol’ bass drum and begins parading around inside of him. Each slam of the mallet creates a sonic boom that reverberates through his entire body, making his guts quiver and his bones shake. 

 

He offers her a smile, because he doesn’t have much else to give. It’s not her fault. People say that all the time--and anyway, it’s a compliment. He’s just good enough at taking care of kids at work that he could do it at home too. It’s meant to stroke his ego, not break his heart. So he smiles, because it’s more appropriate than just straight up crying in front of a patient’s mom.  

 

“I don’t actually have any kids of my own,” he replies, releasing her hand, “But thanks!” 

 

“I’m sorry.” She smiles at him awkwardly, eyebrows knitted together. “I shouldn’t have assumed. Thanks again, doctor.” 

 

She keeps the door open as she leaves. Leorio takes a moment to close it and stand inside the exam room alone. He doesn’t do anything. Just stands there breathing for about five minutes. 

 

He takes his lunch in the afternoon-- “taking his lunch”, of course, means “sitting in his office drinking a tall mug of instant coffee and trying to avoid posts about politics as he scrolls mindlessly through Facebook”. The coffee’s fine, even if it does taste a little like the plastic pouch it came out of. 

 

It gives him enough energy to propel through the afternoon. 

 

His phone rings a few times during a meeting with his last patient, a fifteen year-old who’d eagerly rushed his dad out of the room so he could privately ask Leorio how many times a day it was “normal” to jack off.    
  


“It’s so weird! It’s like everything sets me off, and it’s not like I can ask my  _ dad  _ about it, y’know?!” the teen laments, hanging his head, “And...it’s not just girls, either, it’s  _ everything _ .” 

 

Leorio raises an eyebrow. “Everything?” He glances at his clipboard, “Do you wanna elaborate on that?” 

 

His patient lets out a mortified squeak. “Um. I mean, it’s mostly girls! But the other day, my mom was cutting  _ strawberries _ , and…” He cringes. “Well, y’know, the inside of a strawberry kinda looks like a... _ y’know _ ? And then I couldn’t stop thinking about... _ that _ .” Each word brings a brighter blush to his face, and by the end of his little anecdote, he looks ready to pass out. 

 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” Leorio promises, setting down his clipboard, a silent promise that he won’t write anything down and that this will stay between them, “This is totally normal. Your body is just starting to change, and your hormones are all over the place. There’s no reason to feel ashamed of it--it happens to everyone.” 

 

The patient’s eyes widen hopefully. “Did it happen to  _ you _ , doctor?” 

 

Oh, God.  _ Did  _ it. Puberty hit Leorio like a fucking  _ freight  _ train the first time around, and not in a good way. Parts of his body that should  _ not  _ have grown grew too big, and he fumbled around uncomfortably in clothes that didn’t feel right. Everyone told him that he was growing up to be so  _ pretty _ if he’d just  _ dress right _ . He didn’t give mirrors more than a passing glance from the moment his chest started budding until he was nineteen and growing his first mustache. 

 

Starting T had brought about a new kind of puberty, the one he felt like he’d been denied in middle school. His face grew lean and scruffy, and his voice dropped low into his chest. His curves straightened out, and the fat melted away from his hips and chest. Even though he’d been prepared, even though he’d strapped in, the emotional rollercoaster he endured tossed him every which way at breakneck speed. 

 

It had made things much harder when… 

 

Oof, okay. He’s going to think about that. He’s got a job to do. 

 

Leorio grins reassuringly at his patient. “It  _ totally _ happened to me.” 

 

“Was it this awful?” 

 

“Yep.” He sees no reason to tiptoe around it. “And it’s okay to talk to your dad about it, or maybe there’s another guy you can talk to”--Leorio’s phone buzzes insistently from his pocket, but he ignores it. If it’s a patient with an emergency, they’d have called Oito, and if it’s important, they’ll leave a voicemail. 

 

“Are you sure you don’t wanna get that?” asks his patient, hopping off the exam table, “I’m pretty much done.” 

 

Leorio reaches into his pocket to turn the phone off. “Nah, that would be rude.” 

 

The kid shrugs. “Whatever.” 

 

The caller leaves a voicemail, but Leorio finds himself too distracted by his paperwork to listen to it. He recognizes the number vaguely, but it’s not in his contacts. It’s probably one of those repeat scams telling him that he’s won a cruise, or a free stay at a five-star hotel. He’ll listen to it went he gets home. 

 

He stays in his office nearly until sunset. He only stops when he gets too hungry to focus, and begins to pack up his things. 

 

The commute home is a piece of cake. He’s just missed rush hour, but not by much. The traffic never goes  _ away _ , but just one hour can take the roads from bumper-to-bumper-and-honking to bumper-close-to-bumper-with-a-little-space-in-between-and-still-honking. The radio still plays ads the entire time. 

 

He pulls into his short driveway just as the sun starts melting into the horizon.

 

Leorio likes to think that he’s done pretty well for himself. He lives alone, in a little brick house squished into a long line of others that look similar, but not exactly the same. A shingled awning separates the brown bricks at the base of the house from the light blue siding covering the second floor. His roof, bright red and gabled, connects his home to the one to the left, and to the right. 

 

The house on the left belongs to an eccentric old man who lives alone; its white brick base, reaches the awning and becomes bright yellow siding. He’s filled his small yard with colorful whirligigs and homemade wind-spinners. His driveway is empty, save for an electric blue bicycle chained to the fence. Unknown flowers and herbs explode from conventional planters and old shoes. 

 

Next door, it’s much of the same. They painted the shutters pink some while back, and statues of fairies litter the garden bordering the house. Colorful seasonal flags hang over the door, and the pink Volkswagon bug has eyelashes on the headlights. It’s just as colorful and busy as the house next door, but the owner leaves  most of the yard open for her nephews to practice karate. 

 

Which they are, but probably shouldn’t be, given that one of them has a broken arm. 

 

Leorio finds the two brothers standing barefoot in the grass and calls out to them as he approaches the fence. “Hey, you two!” 

 

Zushi, the younger brother, immediately breaks out of what Leorio assumes was a karate stance, and waddles towards the fence. He holds up his fists and sets one leg back, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. 

 

“Dr. Leorio!” he shouts, a little too loudly for a face-to-face conversation, “ _ Osu! _ ” 

 

Leorio peers down at him over the top of the fence. “Huh?” 

 

“ _ Osu! _ ” Zushi repeats with an affirming little nod like that will automatically make the meaning clear, “Wing taught me!” 

 

“Is that so?” Leorio asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “I thought Wing was supposed to be taking it easy.” 

 

Wing drifts towards the fence, arm wrapped and resting in a sling, not a hair out of place. He smiles politely and adjusts his glasses with his good hand. “Hi, Dr. Leorio. I’m taking it very easy--I haven’t been to Karate in three weeks, so I thought I’d teach Zushi a few stances so I don’t fall out of practice.” Wing’s a good kid--he’s smart, and he takes care of his brother. He’s always real polite. “Is that okay?” 

 

“Only if you don’t push yourself too hard,” Leorio replies with a shrug. Kids are gonna be kids, and they’re gonna want to run around and play, even if they shouldn’t. He doesn’t want Wing to overexert himself, but he also doesn’t want him to be bored to death. “How’re you feeling? Better?” 

 

Wing nods. “Mhm. I’m feeling much better. I just hope I can get my cast off before school starts!” 

 

“If you keep resting, you should be ready to get it off in a few weeks.” Leorio kneels down in front of the fence and peeks at Zushi through the slats. “Make sure your brother doesn’t do anything too strenuous, okay? I’m putting you in charge of his well being!” If there’s one thing that kids love more than candy and cartoons, it’s feeling  _ important _ . 

 

Zushi crosses his little fists. “I’m gonna try my best!” 

 

Leorio’s knees creak as he stands. What the fuck? He’s not even that old. Gross. “I know you will. I’ll leave you karate kids to it.” He attempts to jump into Zushi’s previous stance and holds up his fists playfully. “ _ Oosoo! _ Right?” 

 

Zushi shakes his head. “No!” He shifts into the posture with more grace and accuracy and punches the air in front of him. “ _ Osu! _ ” 

 

“Ah, I got it!” Leorio begins walking away, but suddenly turns around and begins rapidly karate chopping the air. “ _ Osu _ !” he shouts, kicking his foot out dramatically and nearly falling over. It gets Zushi to laugh, and even Wing hides a snicker behind his hand. Mission accomplished. Sure, he probably looks a little goofy, but he didn’t get this far in the pediatrics game by being scared of embarrassing himself. “If you guys need anything, you know where to find me!” 

 

“In your house all by yourself?” Zushi asks. 

 

Ouch.

 

Wing whispers something into Zushi’s ear.

 

“Sorry! That was rude!” The five year old bows apologetically, like a student greeting a sensei at a dojo or something. It’s cute. 

 

“Nah, it wasn’t. Don’t worry about it!” Leorio keeps his smile calculated, just barely fighting a grimace. Obviously Zushi hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, because he’s a good kid, and he’s five. That makes it sting a little less. “See you kids on the flip!” 

 

Leorio climbs the steps leading to his front door and tucks his briefcase under his arm as he fumbles for his keys. 

  
Once he gets inside, it’s too quiet. The bustle of the city and the laughter of children playing outside are stifled by a screaming silence. Nobody comes to kiss him hello, and there’s no pitter-patter of tiny feet scrambling to hug his legs. 

 

There’s nothing but the sound of his own footsteps as he discards his keys, shoes and briefcase and starts to wander around the house. 

 

There’s  _ nobody.  _

 

Leorio heads into the kitchen and opens the freezer, considering his options. Impulsively, he likes to eat his favorite Lean Cuisines first, which leaves him with just a few of the more  _ meh _ flavors to pick from. After some thought, he decides to settle for the drab, plain fettuccine Alfredo. He stabs several holes into the plastic film with a fork, perhaps more aggressively than intended, and nukes it for five minutes. 

 

While his dinner rotates slowly in the dimly-lit microwave, Leorio plops down at the kitchen table and pulls out his phone. He browses through his news app, but it does nothing but piss him off. He’s one anti-vaxx horror story away from posting a strongly worded Facebook status about vaccinating your fucking kids. And that would just be unprofessional. Justified, but unprofessional. 

 

As he closes out of Facebook, his phone buzzes in his hand and a banner scrolls down the screen to remind him that he has one new voicemail. Right. Leorio opens his inbox and presses down on the short message from the unknown number. His expectations are so low that even if it  _ is _ a scam, he won’t be disappointed. 

 

_ “Good afternoon, Dr. Paladiknight. This is Satotz from the Family Hunter Adoption Agency”--  _

 

Leorio’s heart plummets into his feet, and then catapults into his mouth in a split second. He nearly chokes on it. The adoption forms...he’d totally forgotten! How...had he forgotten?

 

Two years ago, he and his (ex) girlfriend had filled out an Expression of Interest form and sent it off to the agency. They’d both wanted kids, but obviously lacked the right plumbing between them to make a baby. 

 

(He’d warned her of that on the first date, sweating under his collar as he flipped clumsily through the menu.  _ “I can’t...I won’t be able to get you pregnant, obviously--not that it’s gonna get that far! I mean, this is the first date! But if it  _ **_does_ ** _...”  _ He hoped it would, and it had.) 

 

So they’d filled out the forms after a year of dating, and maybe it was a little hasty, but they knew that they’d probably have to wait for a few years. They’d agreed to fill out the form and to get married while they waited. The form reached the agency, which thoroughly approved them and added them to a registry of potential parents. 

 

Six months after that, they fell apart, and it was a hundred percent Leorio’s fault. He’s accepted that, taken the hit, and moved on. She had every right to dump him. After all, if  _ he’d _ been going through  _ her _ sock drawer and found a little black box with a ring in it meant for  _ someone else _ \--like, just as an example,  _ her ex from ten years ago _ \--he would’ve probably broken up with her too. It wasn’t fair to her, but it’s over and done with, and that’s okay. 

 

But  **_fuck_ ** \--the past year and a half has been so busy, between Leorio opening his own clinic, to his ex girlfriend moving out (and moving to the other side of the world), he’d forgotten about the adoption agency completely. He covers his mouth with an unsteady hand as he continues listening to the voicemail. 

 

\--  _ “We attempted to reach out to your partner, but were unable to reach her by email or by phone. As you are well aware”-- _ And totally forgot-- “ _ The two of you were  placed on a list of prospective parents. _ ” Statoz blathers on for a good forty five seconds about what it  _ means  _ to be a “prospective parent”, and Leorio tries to listen, he really does, but his heart pounds too loud for him to really hear. 

 

It’s totally doing a victory dance. 

 

_ “...I have sent the child’s information to you via email. Please look it over and get back to us at your convenience, but please keep in mind that this is quite urgent, and make an effort to respond by the end of the week.”  _

 

It’s Wednesday. 

 

Leorio has until Friday to decide if he wants a kid. 

 

He scrambles to yank his laptop out of his briefcase, and pushes it open with nearly enough force to crack it down the middle. He pounds his fingers against the keyboard rapidly, like if he doesn’t get to his email  _ right now _ , the opportunity will vanish into thin air. 

 

There’s one new email from the agency, with several attachments. 

 

Leorio holds his breath as he opens the first one. 

 

Gon. The kid’s name is Gon. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! :3c welcome back to DILF! i'm sorry i took so long. i was super busy with my new job, and i've been sitting around with chapter 2 READY for weeks. but here it is! i'm like a quarter of the way through ch 3 and it should be up soon!! 
> 
> important things to note!  
> -gon is coming in chapter 3 !!! 
> 
> -i write leorio as half southern italian & jewish, and half japanese! i mention his Italianism in this chapter but it's important to note that he is NOT white by any means, and that his religion and heritage will play a big role in the story!! 
> 
> \- i also write zepile as jewish & sicilian ! 
> 
> -kurapika will appear in chapter 4 probably !!! and then we can get into the MEAT of the story!! 
> 
> thank you guys so much for the support so far and i am SO excited to share this new chapter with you !!

The kid’s name is Gon, and Gon is  _ perfect.  _

 

Leorio stares at his photograph for what feels like hours but can’t be more than a minute. He’s got a shock of black hair, brown skin, and warm, light brown eyes. He looks just like Leorio did when he was a kid, back when he was a scrappy little shit, running barefoot through parks and jumping in fountains. It’s funny. He looks so much like Leorio that he might as well already be his son. 

 

Right. 

 

Gon might be his son by the end of the week. 

 

His brain’s spinning so fast that he can’t read the forms, so Leorio paces. He paces through the kitchen until he’s bored with the scenery. Then, he paces around the living room. As he treks from one side of the room to the other, he  _ thinks _ . They’re not normal, rational thoughts, but far flung  _ pacing  _ thoughts. What if Gon doesn’t like the house? Or what if Leorio paints his room a color that he doesn’t like, and Gon hates him forever? What if he doesn’t like his new school? What if he doesn't’ get along with the other kids in the neighborhood? 

 

The scariest question of all gnaws on Leorio’s guts like a family of maggots. 

 

_ What if we just don’t click?  _

 

He paces until he bangs his knee on the coffee table and decides that it’s probably time to sit down. It’s past midnight. He stretches out on the couch and opens his laptop again to at least  _ try  _ to read the forms. He immediately opens up a Word document to take notes. 

 

By the time he gets through all the forms, it’s well past midnight and he’s delirious. Leorio passes out around one AM, laptop open, glasses askew. 

 

His phone jolts him out of sleep at  _ exactly _ five, and he awakes to the most incomprehensible notes he’s ever taken. 

 

_ GON  _

 

  * __Five y/o--starting kindergarten this year? When is enrollment for pre-k?__


  * _Likes frogs -- favorite color green (?????)_


  * _No known allergies GOOD_


  * _Been in the system since 6 mo_


  * _Very energetic -- trouble paying attention. Can relate._


  * _Friendly, outgoing, adventurous_


  * _Favorite Food: Rice with egg_



 

 

From there, the notes slip into complete gibberish. He must’ve fallen asleep with his hand on the keyboard. 

 

Leorio scrambles through his morning routine, jumping in and out of the shower and pounding back some leftover coffee. He still makes it out on time, but a few minutes later than usual. 

 

The traffic doesn’t bother him as much as it usually does, and he doesn’t even hear the ads on the radio. He focuses all of his attention on Gon when he should be paying attention to the road. He’ll need to get a car seat, for sure. Will Gon be a fan of the car? Or will he get car sick? Will they take little weekend trips together during the summer? They’ll have to, right? 

 

He wonders what Gon’s favorite places are, if he prefers the beach or the zoo, museums or movie theaters. What’s his favorite movie? Geez, Leorio can’t remember the last time he went to a kids’ movie--but he can already imagine carrying Gon on his shoulders to the box office and putting him down by the concession counter. He’ll let him put just a  _ little  _ bit of butter on his popcorn, and he’ll buy them a box of candy to split, but no soda. What’s Gon’s favorite candy? Is he quiet and traditional, preferring something like M&Ms or Sno Caps? Or is he a goofy, gummy worm kinda kid?

 

Is he getting ahead of himself? He’s totally getting ahead of himself. 

 

The morning rushes by like all the rest, but instead of sitting in his office with a mug of stale coffee, Leorio goes out. He walks four blocks to his favorite deli and braves the lunch rush to grab two sandwiches. The plastic bag hangs from his arm as he weaves through swarms of people for another three blocks. He takes a sharp left down a familiar side-street and the crowd thins out; he spends the rest of his trip wandering past the tightly-packed line of apartment buildings before coming to one that he recognizes. 

 

Leorio hits the buzzer and nothing happens. He hits it again, holding his finger down for a good five seconds before rapidly smacking the button. 

 

The intercom crackles. Then, a voice hisses through the speaker. 

 

_ “Oh my God, what do you want?! Quit abusing my buzzer!”  _

 

Oh, it’s one of  _ those  _ days. Leorio grins. He leans forward towards the speaker and hits the  _ Talk  _ button. “Hey, it’s me. I brought lunch!”  

 

_ “Yeah, no shit it’s you! Who else would ring my bell like that?! You’re literally the most annoying person in the goddamn world--did you say lunch?”  _

 

“Yep. Sandwiches.” Leorio steps back and waves towards a window at the top floor. 

 

_ “I see you….is it from the deli on Fifty Seventh? With the chicken soup?”  _

 

Leorio holds up the bag before stepping forward and hitting the intercom again. “I brought you a cup.” 

 

There’s a long pause. Then--

 

_ “...Come on in.”  _

 

The doorknob buzzes under Leorio’s hand as he grabs it. He nudges the door open with his shoulder and squirms through into the foyer. The lobby’s wide and spacious--and pretty bougie too, all marble floors and leather chairs. There’s even a room off to the side with a billiards table and a fireplace. He’s gotten drunk here a couple of times and played pool, and there’s even a hole in the wall next to the dartboard from a time when his aim was a little off. The folks at the front desk know him by now, because it’s not like Zepile get that many visitors, or has that many friends. They always seem glad to see Leorio, especially on days like this when Zepile is clearly in a  _ mood _ . 

 

He hops into the elevator with no questions asked, and rides all the way up to the penthouse. 

 

Zepile is blasting the Top Hits of the 80s again. 

 

Leorio heard it from the lobby, and it grows louder and louder as he ascends towards the top floor. 

 

The elevator stops on the fifth floor and an old lady with her shopping bags bustles through. 

 

“This one’s going up,” he warns her as she completely ignores him. Gotta love New York. 

 

She crosses her arms and clutches her bags tighter as she glances to the panel of buttons. Pointing to the illuminated  _ 12 _ button, she asks “The penthouse, huh?” He nods. “Good. Maybe you can get him to stop playing that damn music! It’s driving my cats insane, and I already asked him to keep it down  _ once _ ”-- 

 

Zepile gets like this sometimes. He finds a mistake somewhere on a project, and he goes from being laid back and cocky to an absolute  _ mess  _ of a workaholic. He blasts his music, lives on espresso, and gets maybe twelve hours of sleep in a week. It’s been like this since they were in college, probably even before. During finals, neither of them slept because he was up all night cranking up the radio and frantically scribbling in his sketchpad at three in the morning. Leorio had to keep them both afloat with nothing but cup noodles and instant coffee. 

 

He gets off at the twelfth floor and bids the old woman adieu--even though she couldn’t care less that he existed--because he’s polite and has a good reputation. He follows the music to Zepile’s door and pounds on it with his entire forearm. 

 

“Hey!” he shouts into the wood, “Turn that shit down, would ya?! It’s driving your neighbors bonkers!” 

 

A pause. 

 

The music slowly quiets to a whisper. 

 

He hears rustling on the other side of the door--Zepile’s frantic attempt to make the apartment presentable, no doubt. Leorio doesn’t know why he bothers. They’ve seen each other naked,  and sick, and piss drunk and hungover. They lived together for two years, packed like sardines into a dorm the size of a broom closet. 

 

The door opens, just a crack, and Zepile pokes his head out. “Did the old lady from five yell at you?” he asks, pulling the door open the rest of the way. 

 

Yikes. 

 

This place is a mess, and the open floor plan somehow makes it look even  _ worse _ . The curtains are flung wide open, the warm, golden light of the afternoon bathing the whole place in a buttery glow. Empty takeout boxes litter the coffee table, and the couch has been pushed against the wall and covered with junk to make room for even  _ more  _ junk. Tarps cover every inch of the floor, and Leorio has to step very carefully over a drying canvas sitting in the front hallway. 

 

“She didn’t yell, exactly…” He wobbles a little as he narrow avoids stepping on a tube of black paint. “But she said it’s upsetting her cats.” 

 

Zepile shoves a pile of paint tubes and brushes towards the end of the kitchen table. “Everything upsets her cats, but I’ll keep it down.” Even when he gets like this, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair sticking out every which way, he’s a  _ good  _ guy. He just needs to be reminded that other people exist outside of this penthouse, outside of his manic artist bubble. “You can put the bags here.” 

 

Leorio does so, and carefully lifts out the pint of chicken soup. He places it on the table under a napkin, because it’s a  _ nice  _ table, even if Zepile just uses it to store his paints. Then, he takes out the two wrapped sandwiches and offers one to his friend. It’s warm inside the paper jacket. “This one’s for you.” 

 

Zepile takes it immediately and smells it. “Did you get me pastrami?” he asks, eyes alight, “God, I love you.” He doesn’t even bother looking for a plate--he just tears some of the wrapping away and takes a bite. 

 

“Ten minutes ago you said I was the most annoying person on the planet.” Leorio unwraps his turkey sandwich and spreads the paper out underneath it on the table like a placemat. 

 

Zepile holds up a finger as he chews, signaling Leorio to wait. He swallows. “Do not”--He sits down at the table-- “Take to heart anything I said when I was hungry. I’m a different person when I haven’t eaten. It’s an Italian thing.” 

 

Leorio bites into his turkey sandwich. “I think that’s an everyone thing,” he offers, “I get like that too.” 

 

“You’re just as Italian as I am, so who’s to say?” 

 

Huh. He guesses that’s true. It’s one of the reasons why he and Zepile get along so well--they’re both loud, they and have the same ticks and mannerisms.  Leorio’s ex girlfriend always liked to tease him about how he spoke with his hands, and said that talking with him and Zepile was like being a part of a patty-cake competition. She wasn’t wrong, but it made him sit with his hands folded in his lap whenever he spoke to her. 

 

They eat in silence as Hungry Zepile slowly mellows out into Normal Zepile--who really isn’t all that mellow. 

 

“So.” He swipes a bit of mustard away from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “What brings you to my starving artist’s abode this afternoon? You never bring me lunch.” He raises one big-ass eyebrow suspiciously as he takes a sip of his diet Coke. “Did someone die?”

 

Leorio draws Zepile’s attention to the lavish--but messy--apartment with a sweeping gesture. “You call this starving?” he asks, scoffing, “If this is your version of  _ broke _ , I’d love to see what it looks like when you’re in the black.” They’re both still paying off grad school, but Zepile knows how to take his talent through the right channels. Leorio takes another bite of his sandwich. “And no one died, I just…” He shrugs, trying to keep it casual. “I’m meeting my son tomorrow.”

 

Zepile’s jaw drops and the soda flows from his open mouth, down his chin, and onto the table. He spends half a second staring at Leorio like they’re  _ both  _ stupid before reality slowly descends onto his face like a thick fog. “You forgot about the forms, didn’t you?” he asks slowly, carefully, like the world will turn itself inside out if he’s wrong. 

 

“I forgot about the forms.” 

 

Zepile clears his throat. “That’s...um...wow.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re an idiot.” 

 

Groaning, Leorio drops his head onto the table, his body decompressing and flopping forward like an accordian. “I know!” he whines, pressing his cheek into the wood, “But in my defense, it seems like she forgot about it too.” 

 

Zepile knows him well enough to not open that can of worms. They haven’t talked about Leorio’s ex in over a year--it’s an easy to avoid topic when she moved to the other side of the world and changed her phone number. Still, she hovers in the back of Leorio’s mind. This kid was supposed to be hers  _ and  _ his, so doesn’t she have the right to know? To be a part of Gon’s life if that’s what she wants? He should probably reach out to her, but that would involve a lot of awkward small talk and tiptoeing around the fact that they were even together--and the reason why they’re not. Still, as much as it pains him--

 

And it  _ pains _ him--

 

It’s the right thing to do. 

 

Sighing, Leorio lifts his head. He flops back into his chair and drags a hand through his dark hair. “I gotta tell her.” 

 

Zepile cringes. “I mean...do you?” he asks, like he already knows the answer. He’s a good guy. He knows why this is necessary. 

 

But he also knows that it  _ sucks _ . 

 

....

 

That night, Leorio clears out his spare room and shoots his ex girlfriend a message over Facebook. However, he has to go through the mortifying ordeal to send a  _ friend request _ , like being  _ friends  _ is something that either of them wants. He knows she doesn’t want it. She made that clear when she packed all her shit and moved to another country without so much as a goodbye. 

 

What is it about Leorio that makes him so  _ ghostable _ ? 

 

He spends the rest of his evening pacing around the living room, laptop sitting open on the coffee table. He occasionally stops to check his messages, or to look over Gon’s file. What is he supposed to say to his ex? 

 

Fuck that, what’s he supposed to say to this  _ kid _ ? 

 

Obviously, hello is a good place to start, but what then? He’d asked Statoz for advice when he called back to say that yes, he was very interested in meeting tomorrow, but the guy was  _ beyond  _ useless. He spoke vaguely, but about how every child was specific, that it was all subjective, but that Leorio should avoid saying the wrong thing or the results could be  _ catastrophic _ . That’s the word he used!  _ Catastrophic _ . What an ass! 

 

But Leorio is determined to not fuck this up. He’s gonna make a good impression and connect with this kid, and he’s gonna be a good dad even if it kills him. 

 

A soft  _ ding _ chirps at him from his laptop and Leorio immediately lunges for the coffee table. He drags his laptop into his lap, perched up on the couch like a bird on a branch, and rapidly refreshes his browser. 

 

He has one new message. 

 

He has one new message from a woman who he hasn’t spoken to in a year because she thought he was going to propose to her and he didn’t. 

 

Leorio holds his breath as he opens it. 

 

He sent her a nice, professional message, bypassing the small talk and cutting to the chase. They were approved for adoption. He’s meeting the kid tomorrow. Does she want in? He makes sure to avoid discussing the breakup, or the fact that they’d even dated altogether. Unpacking  _ all that  _ is the last thing he needs before meeting Gon. He can’t go into this thinking about his failures. 

 

However, his ex doesn’t seem to care--he knows this because she sends him the most scathing Facebook message he’s ever received and then signs it with a little sticker of a little rabbit wearing a spacesuit. 

 

_ Greetings,  _ it starts out, which is never a good sign. No one ever says “greetings” and then gives you good news,  _ I’m surprised to hear from you. However, I thought we’d already said what we had to, and agreed to let it go.  _

 

That’s her way of saying “I said I never wanted to speak to you again, get with the program, asshole”. Leorio cringes, but keeps reading.  

 

_ As you know, I have moved out of the country for my job, and am having a great time here. I don’t think anything could drag me back to the states. I’m sorry if I got your hopes up, but I’m not coming back. Not for you, not for a kid, not for anything. I’m happy here, and I hope you’re happy too. I know we didn’t end things on good terms, but I want you to have a good life. But it’s just not one that I can be a part of at this time. If you’re worried about raising the kid all by yourself, maybe you should revoke your application. Good luck.  _

 

__ Translation: this is your problem now. Either man up, or give up. 

 

And Leorio doesn’t give up. He doesn’t even think he knows how. 

 

A surge of confidence rushes through him like an unstoppable wave. He doesn’t need her to raise this child, and he  _ definitely  _ doesn’t need her to tell him what he can’t do! 

 

Leorio closes his laptop, shutting out the temptation of reading over Gon’s profile for the hundredth time and giving himself even more anxiety. Instead, he begins to pace again, circumambulating the couch and coffee table and waiting for the answer to all of his doubts to mysteriously appear. 

 

After an hour, it becomes apparent that a sudden lighting strike of enlightenment is  _ not  _ going to appear, and that it’s time for bed. 

 

One last night alone. 

 

Twenty four hours from now, he’ll have already tucked Gon into bed. He’ll have read him a story and kissed him goodnight, and checked for monsters under the bed. On Saturday morning, he’ll wake up early and make pancakes--does Gon like chocolate chip? Or just plain?--and the two of them will get to know each other as they share a jug of syrup and watch cartoons. 

 

Leorio flops onto his bed and shimmies under the covers, a smile on his face. 

 

It feels like this whole time, his life has been budding--it’s been sitting on a branch, shivering in the rain and freezing in the snow. He’s been waiting for things to thaw over, for the sun to peek out from behind the clouds, and for the ground to get soft and squishy. 

 

He’s been waiting for his life to start, and he didn’t even know it. All this time, he’s been waiting for something, for someone. Each time he thought he’d found it, that missing puzzle piece, that coveted  _ thing  _ that would help the world make sense, it went away. Whenever he starts to get excited and thinks  _ “This is really it! I’ve found you!”  _ someone ghosts him, or dumps him, or  _ dies _ . And then he’s back to being... _ just  _ Leorio. Just an incomplete puzzle, just a peanut-butter-and-no-jelly sandwich--just a lone bud that might never open up, sitting on a shaky branch. 

 

But tomorrow, he’s gonna bloom. 


End file.
